


allez, viens

by fallencrest



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Long-Distance Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-10 00:36:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7823410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallencrest/pseuds/fallencrest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Long distance sucks; but it makes Danny realise he has a home to come back to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	allez, viens

**Author's Note:**

  * For [speakingwosound (sev313)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sev313/gifts).



> Dear speakingwosound, I just couldn't resist your prompt about Danny and Claude trying to keep their relationship together while Danny was in Montreal and Colorado. This ended up somewhat more miserable than I expected but I just can't imagine Danny enjoying those last two years away from his boys (and Claude), so sorry if parts of this are less happy than you'd prefer. I promise it has a happy ending though. (I mean, we all know Danny came back to Philly in the end.)

“We're buying you out,” they say and Danny nods and says he understands and when he tells Claude he manages not to cry until he's hung up the phone. There will be plenty of time for that later.

 

Claude comes by with cold beer and a look on his face like he's seen something he wishes he hadn't. He puts the beer down on the table and hugs Danny so tightly it feels like it ought to bruise. 

Danny doesn't let go and the beer is warm by the time they drink it.

 

“Montreal?” Claude says, “Danny, that's amazing. It's— a dream come true right? The team you loved growing up and you'll actually get to play there.” 

Danny's throat feels dry and the scrape of his adam's apple as he swallows actually hurts. 

“It's going to be amazing, Danny. It will.”

Danny just wishes he believed it.

 

Danny wants to love Montreal. He really does. He wants to love that he can speak French everywhere and that, when his kids come to visit, they do too. He's wearing the tricoleur and it has his name on it and he's even seen fans wearing Habs jerseys with his name on.

“Fuck, I miss you,” he tells Claude, “and I hate this empty apartment and—” He doesn't say _I want to go home_ but it hits him with more force than he'd ever expected. He wonders when Philly became home. He thinks about the house out in Haddonsfield and being there with his kids and the dogs and Claude and he kind of wants to puke. He kind of wants to tear his contract up and _go home_.

 

He's lying on his sofa with the lights off trying to pretend he's doing it because he wants to and not because he's still got a concussion and, fuck, he'd only played a couple of games before that hit and now he's just alone in his apartment in Montreal and he wants to go home but he shouldn't and he probably can't really because his house is closed up and Claude doesn't have time to take care of an invalid and it's not like he could explain to the Habs organisation why he wants to recuperate there. He has to show willing to go back on the ice and be the player they're paying eight million for. 

He screws his eyes shut and it takes him a second to realise that his phone is actually ringing and it's not just a new symptom of his concussion.

“Hey dad,” says Caelan, all warm enthusiasm and lack of inhibitions and, well, at least he can count on his kids not to have changed.

Caelan doesn't give him time to say more than “hey Caelan” before he's reeling off what he has to say.

“I just thought I'd tell you that Claude is the best. I needed someone to come pick me up from practice and he just showed up and then he was totally cool with everyone because, y'know, they wanted autographs and stuff and then he took me out for pizza and we hung out til mom got home. I kind of forgot how awesome he was.”

The glare from the phone screen means Danny has to screw his eyes shut and just listen to his son's voice but he registers almost everything. He can see Claude, in his mind's eye, smiling and goofing off while Caelan's teammates and their parents queue up for autographs and ask him questions and it hurts in a way he can't attribute to the concussion. He smiles but it feels like more of a grimace. 

“That's great,” Danny says, too slow, when he remembers he ought to respond.

“Yeah,” Caelan says, “it is. And I think he misses you.” There's a pause, the sort of pause where Caelan's forehead might wrinkle into a frown of determination before he says, “We all miss you, dad.” 

“I miss you, too,” Danny says. 

He makes himself text Claude later, even though the screen light makes his head feel like it's going to explode. He writes out, slow and careful, _thanks for helping Caelan out_ and tries a string of different sign-offs before he settles on _miss you_ and hits send. 

 

It's late when the team arrives in Philly the night before Danny's homecoming game at Wells Fargo Center. It's a cold night in December and the plane touches down at the same tiny airport the Flyers' plane always used to. Walking down the runway to the bus, Danny isn't sure if he's shivering from cold or some kind of deja vu. 

He calls Claude from the bus, voice low, regretting the fact that he can no longer hide much from most of the team just by speaking French. 

They meet in a bar first and all Danny wants to do is reach out and pull him close and not let go. 

They don't even finish their first order before they leave. 

“I missed you,” Claude says, “I missed--” and “fuck, Danny,” and “please.”

Danny wants to touch every inch of skin, to find a way to memorise every part of Claude so he can take this with him and feel a little less alone.

“Anything,” Danny says, “fuck, yes, anything.”

 

Coming back on the ice at Wells Fargo Center feels the way Danny wanted this whole year to feel. The electric atmosphere at the Bell Centre was less than he'd expected it to be somehow but coming back to Philadelphia and seeing all the fans stand up and cheer for him makes it hard to choke back the tears he wants to shed. 

There are fans out there wearing his old jersey, more than there are in Montreal wearing the new one, and he has to sit down on the bench to try to settle himself.

He can't even bring himself to be sad when the Habs lose the game.

 

The bus to Long Island feels like a punch to the gut. Leaving all over again.

 

They steal a day at Christmas when Danny's meant to be with his parents in Gatineau. He doesn't want to hurt his parents' feelings but Claude's in Ottawa and so close he can't bring himself to sit still. The kids are with their mom for Christmas and they couldn't make the dates work no matter what they did and Danny feels wrung out and abandoned until he sees Claude's face. 

Claude's smile is open and honest and even though he says “you look like shit,” he still hugs Danny tight and doesn't make him talk about how fucking miserable he is.

 

He thinks it gets easier because he gets used to it. It doesn't feel any better but he's adjusted to the low level ache of loneliness.

His kids call and Claude calls and the guys in the locker room start joking that Claude is his _petit ami_. 

“He's definitely young enough,” someone jokes but it isn't serious, it isn't like Philly where no-one joked about it but half the locker room knew. Instead they all pile in with chirps about how the age comments are a little ripe coming from a guy who generally seems to sleep with teenagers. Danny can tune them out but he can't tune out the way just one mention of Claude makes him miss him even more.

 

He's not entirely sure how he makes it to the post-season, then through it to the off-season. 

Their first round match-up against the Lightning has all the intensity of the post-season but little of the fear. They win in four straight games and Danny's only real cause for disappointment is that he only gets one goal. 

The Flyers' first round match up goes less well and Danny spends his downtime before the second round watching Claude face-off against the Rangers, yelling at the TV for every cheap shot that doesn't get called, trying to resist the urge to call the Flyers' medical staff to check in whenever a guy has to head back down the corridor to the locker room.

He texts Claude after the games, mostly inanities, _good game_ or _you OK?_

He doesn't send anything after game seven because, if there are words for that, he doesn't know what they are. But his phone buzzes sometime after midnight, _playoffs sucked without you_

 _Wish I could have been there_

He finds his breath catches a little as he hits send. He's caught off-guard by just how true it is that he'd rather have lost in the first round with Claude than be in Boston, preparing for a second round match as part of a rivalry he's cared about for longer than Claude has been alive.

Claude's reply is a little slow in coming and it isn't really a reply. Just _good luck tomorrow_.

Danny screws his eyes shut and tries to sleep. It's a long time before he does.

 

When he sets foot on the ice at TD Garden, he remembers why he's doing this. He remembers it the same way he does every time he hits the ice for a game. He's given up so much of his life for hockey and whenever he plays, it feels worth it. No matter how he feels in his empty apartment in Montreal; out here on the ice, it's always worth it.

The series is brutal and hard-fought and Danny is almost surprised when they win. He nets the insurance goal in game seven and, for as long as the adrenaline rush lasts, it almost feels like it did in 2010 with the Flyers.

 

The Rangers series goes less well. Price is out for most of it and Lunqvist stonewalls them to the extent that Danny's surprised the Rangers only get one shut-out. It's tiring and frustrating but his kids show up for most of the games because it's close to home and it's summer already. 

There's kind of a poetic symmetry to it though, really, that he and Claude both lose to the same team in the end. They've always won and lost together, at least as long as Claude's been in the league, so when Claude texts him _fuck the Rangers_ he can't help but smile a little in spite of himself.

 

He calls Claude the day after the loss at Madison Square Garden and says, “hey, are you in Philly? I was going to come back.”

 

It's a good summer to start with. They find stretches of days, almost a week early in the off-season, where they can just be together. 

Danny has the kids for a week and they practically beg him to invite Claude over. They play ball hockey in the driveway and it's too easy to pretend they've gone back in time and Danny isn't going to leave soon. 

 

When the trade talks start, he's almost relieved. The idea of another season like the last doesn't seem tenable. He can't take another year of feeling homesick where he thinks he ought to feel at home. 

Colorado though, Colorado is a shock. They'd won a cup the year Danny was drafted but, these days, they're not exactly a contender and it's so far west, so much farther from home than anywhere he's ever played. 

He gets the call on the 30th of June and the first thing he does after the first call from the Habs front office is to call Claude and tell him. He tells him it's Colorado, and they'll only play each other twice all year. He doesn't know what makes him say it but he says maybe Claude should focus on his own career, not worry about Danny stuck out in Denver. He says this year has been so tough and so maybe they shouldn't put themselves through that again.

Claude doesn't say much, just says, “okay, I understand” and hangs up the phone.

The hardest thing is not calling him back.

 

Barely more than a day later, Claude gets himself arrested doing something reckless and embarrassing and stupid and Danny reads it in the news before he hears about it anywhere else. He thinks about calling Claude but he doesn't know what to say. “I'm sorry” would assume it was his fault and maybe a clean break is what they needed after all. 

 

He spends the rest of the summer training and trying to forget everything that isn't hockey.

 

He still watches Claude's games, still misses him so much it hurts, but at least he isn't deluding himself trying to think of ways to make it work. After last year, he's pretty sure there isn't a way to make it work.

So, he tries to keep his head down, focus on his career, but doesn't find much consolation in it. His stats are terrible, his play is declining, and he's playing on a team in the basement of the league and already looking like they won't make the playoffs.

 

In December, he gets a call from the landline at the boys' house, only it isn't the boys. It's Sylvie. At first, he thinks it's something serious — one of the boys has been injured or something happened at school or he's not going to see them over the holidays this year after all. Except, it isn't that. She's asking about Claude.

“See, he's helped out so much. I think he spent half his downtime in September helping Caelan train so he'd make the team,” she says, “and they really go to him for advice and he is so patient and good with them.” 

She keeps talking and Danny listens but he can hardly take it in. Sure, he knew from spending time with Claude and the boys over the summer that they'd seen each other last season but he hadn't thought it was a big thing and he certainly hadn't thought that Claude would stick around after Danny had basically told him to move on. 

There's a silence on the end of the line and Sylvie asks, “Danny, are you listening?”

“Yeah,” Danny says, “Sorry, can you repeat that last part?”

“Well, I thought it would be nice to get him something for Christmas as a token of recognition for everything he's done to help out but I wasn't sure what to get him. I thought you'd know if there's a brand of cologne or something that he'd like.”

Danny swallows. He thinks about how half the stores he's gone into since the Christmas lights went up have had something in them which reminded him of Claude.

“Don't—” he says, pausing involuntarily, “don't get him something like that. Get something personal. Like the puck from Caelan's first goal of the season or, I don't know,” he huffs a breath, “have the kids show up to his last home game before the break all wearing Giroux jerseys or make him a trophy for all the times he won at knee hockey or something.” 

He tries to laugh but he knows it doesn't sound right.

He isn't surprised when Sylvie asks him if he's alright. He's more surprised when he spills it all, how he and Claude aren't talking and it's his fault and he just wants Claude to be happy instead of miserable because he's stuck with a guy who's living half the length of the states away, a guy who's at the end of his career, while Claude should be having the time of his life, the best years of his own career laid out right there for him. 

“Danny, I know you well enough to tell you to stop being a self-pitying asshole.” Sylvie says, “He loves you. He loves the kids. Don't you dare fuck this up because you think you ought to be a martyr. You'll only make both of you miserable.”

 

For Christmas, the boys each give him a badly wrapped gift but the one box, leftover, neatly wrapped, is a framed photograph. A photograph where Claude is smiling wide enough to show his missing tooth, his arms around Caelan and Carson on either side of him, Cameron stood in front. All four of them in matching jerseys, so it would almost look like the pictures he made the boys take with him every season except the jersey number's wrong and they're all wearing the C. 

There's a post-it note stuck to the back of the frame which says _I sent one to Claude, too_. 

Danny wants to call Claude then and there but it's Christmas and the one thing he doesn't want to do is make it worse.

 

They play each other on New Year's Eve. Danny had played his one game of the year in Philly back in November and he and Claude hadn't spoken then. They speak this time but not until after the game. 

It's a good game for Claude. He gets a powerplay goal and more time on ice than any other forward on either team. Danny plays nine minutes and doesn't hit the score sheet for anything. Colorado wins in OT but it's far from a decisive victory, won by the Avs willingness to block shots more than any real difference in the level of play.

Danny texts Claude after the game, an uncertain _hey, can we talk?_

They meet in a corridor between the locker rooms at the arena and the conversation is awkward and stalling and mostly just about the photograph.

Claude apologises for it and that's maybe what hurts the most. As though Claude thinks Danny wouldn't be fine with it, as though it hadn't been Danny's own stupid idea. Claude apologises for still being part of his kids' lives because, he says, he couldn't bring himself to bail on them like that but maybe they should talk about what they're going to do about it. 

Danny tries to say that he thinks it's great, that he's grateful to Claude for being there for his kids when he can't be; but he thinks he can't be saying it right because Claude isn't smiling, just looks tired and defeated in a way an overtime loss doesn't full account for.

“Thank you,” he says, “for being there for them.”

“It's not exactly a chore,” Claude says, “they're great kids.” He still isn't smiling though. 

Danny wants to say that he misses Claude, wants to say that he is an idiot and he's sorry, but he thinks that might only make it worse. So he doesn't say anything other than “Thanks.”

 

By midnight, he's home and alone and he's had just enough to drink that it seems like a smart idea to welcome the new year by calling Claude to tell him those things. 

The cellphone networks are all so busy that he's surprised it even connects – though maybe network overload is the reason it goes straight through to voicemail. “Hey Claude,” he says, knowing his voice sounds terrible and that there's no way he's going to have the strength to listen to his message back the whole way through, “I just wanted to say that, fuck, I didn't say it earlier but I'm an idiot and I miss you and I'm sorry. And you're— I love you, okay. I'm sorry.” 

He hangs up before it plays his message back to him, just pushes the button he thinks is “send message” rather than delete and stares at the wall for a while before turning off his phone. 

 

It's a couple of days before he hears from Claude and then it's only a text. _I got your message and you are an idiot_ followed by, a few minutes later, _I miss you, too._

 

The rest of the season sees a sporadic string of messages and calls. Claude sends him a picture of Carson eating a grilled cheese in Claude's apartment, of himself posing with a fan who's still wearing a Flyers Briere jersey, a picture of his “best bruise of the season so far” which really shouldn't make Danny miss running his fingers over Claude's skin quite as much as it does.

Danny sends him texts congratulating him on goals and reporting back after every phone call when one of his kids tells him Claude is awesome. 

 

In March, Cameron sends him a picture of Claude driving him home with a caption about how Claude had told him he should send it – though Cameron says he totally doesn't get why – and Danny doesn't know how he'd explain it to Cameron but he knows why.

He calls Claude that night and before Claude can even say anything he says “I want to come home. After the season's over, I want to come home.”

Claude doesn't ask what he means, just says “yeah?” with the kind of hope in his voice that Danny used to love hearing whenever they would make a bet in the locker room about who was going to score first in a game.

“Yeah. I want to come back to Philly, to you, to the boys. If you'll have me anyway.”

“And what about next season?” Claude sounds more serious, less elated than Danny wants him to be. He wants this to be a good thing for both of them but maybe it's not as easy as just saying that.

“I'm not ruling it out. If I get the right offer, the right team, maybe, but after this year, after last year, I don't think I can keep doing this. I love hockey, I love playing but this isn't a life, not for me, not any more, I—”

“Then come home, Danny.” Claude says, “please.”

And Danny says, “yeah, I will. Thank you.”

 

Claude's waiting for him at the airport when he comes home. 

“Your place is still all packed up, right?” Claude says, as he pops the trunk of his car and loads it up with Danny's suitcase, “so do you want to come back to mine?”

“Yeah,” Danny says, “Sounds good.” 

They talk on the drive back and it's easy, even though Claude asks him the hard questions again about whether he's sure he's done with hockey and Danny has to be honest because he isn't sure he'll ever feel that certain about walking away. 

He watches Claude's face as he drives, his steady hands on the wheel, the smile that breaks across Claude's face when their eyes meet in the rear view mirror.

 

“Don't jump me yet,” Claude says on the stairs into the apartment. “No, seriously,” he says, squirming away when Danny gets his hands on him as he's trying to unlock the door but he's smiling, hardly holding back a laugh. 

When he opens the door though, Danny gets it. The kids are right there, sat on Claude's couch, playing NHL15 and hardly bothering to look up when he comes in except to say “hey dad!”

“Hey,” Danny says, “are you guys too cool to hug your dad now?”

“Kind of.” Cameron says, but they pause the game and line up to hug him anyway. 

Danny mouths a _thank you_ to Claude over Carson's shoulder as he hugs him and Claude raises his eyebrows like he thinks Danny might be thanking him for the warning on the stairs rather than for managing to get his kids here for his homecoming.

And maybe there's a long way to go before he gets used to this but, if this is how it's going to be, Danny thinks it might be easier to give up hockey than to give up being home.


End file.
